mardi 24 juin 2014

Forget about It

The
person who I was isn’t the person I’ve become. Somewhere along the way, I
changed, and became me. Somehow, at some point, I was pulled into existence, by
actions over which I had no control. Yet they were my actions.

When
you look back, it’s either because of something you miss, or because of
something you’ve missed. There is no innocent reminiscing. It’s either guilt or
pleasure, never mere contemplation.

Those
who get caught up in the past cannot move forward. Fearing their old mistakes,
or basking in the glory of days gone by, they are left behind. Reality knows
only the present.

Like
a thumb-movie, the minutes flicker by, and we change from frame to frame. There
would be no sense to what we are doing right now without what happened before.
Yet what happened before has already left this world. It only lives on in our
memory. With each breath we take, we kill ourselves, and are born over and over
and over.

As
we stop remembering, the synapses retreat, one after the other. The past
disappears. We can read about it, we can look at the pictures. We can talk
about it with our friends. But the feeling is gone.

Memories
fade with time, and time creates new memories. New synapses emerge, new
connections are made, and the old world slowly slips into oblivion. Images that
were once razor-sharp are now dull and blurry. Sounds have lost their meaning.
Sentences have become words, disjointed and out of context. And emotions have
become cumbersome obligations.

Long
forgotten, lost in the chaos of our brain, a lonely neuron keeps on discharging
his signal into the world.